


you are eternal

by jaigrex



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Clone Wars, Episode: s07e11 Shattered, Episode: s07e12 Victory and Death, Feelings, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Major Character Injury, Mind Control, No Beta We Die Like Clones, No Smut, POV CT-7567 | Rex, Panic Attacks, Post-Order 66, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Stream of Consciousness, Unhappy Ending, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaigrex/pseuds/jaigrex
Summary: Rex's shoulders are tense, and under his helmet, his eyes are frantic, constantly bouncing around looking for more incoming troops. Sure enough, he hears one pair of footsteps coming around the corner, and with a glance at the familiar ARC-trooper helmet with the Galactic Republic symbol painted front and center, his heart stops.It’s Jesse.[Set after TCW S7E11 "Shattered."]
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	you are eternal

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I have never written fan fiction before so hopefully this turned out alright.
> 
> This fic takes place immediately after TCW S7E11 "Shattered." As of now, the finale is not out yet, so this fic diverts from the canon E12. This is just something that my brain came up and I had to write it out.
> 
> *Caution, please read the tags, this is a violent and sad fic.*
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

Rex doesn’t understand what is going on.

All he recognizes are the comforting weights of his dual blasters in his hands, the familiar sounds of battle echoing around him as shots are fired. This battle is different, though, because he is not shooting clankers, he is shooting his _brothers_.

Ever since he woke up on the medical table, everything has been a blur. He is himself again, he knows that, but Rex still feels like he is on autopilot, like one of those Geonosian brain worm zombies his vod’e had told him about. His head is throbbing under his helmet, the incision that was made to remove the chip stinging as he sweats. The bodies of the 332nd are starting to pile up, their freshly painted orange helmets a painful reminder that he tried to kill his kriffing Jedi.

Ahsoka is calling the shots, as always, but Rex is more than okay with this arrangement because he is so unbelievably overwhelmed, he doesn’t think he could tell up from down. He is standing guard at the end of a long hallway while the Togrutan Jedi is scoping out a relatively safe path for them to get to the main hanger so that they can steal a ship and get off this flying deathtrap. Every minute they stay on this ship is another batch of brothers he has to kill, and he wants to spare every single one of them that he can. He was forced to kill his vod’e before, back on the dark hell that was Umbara, tricked by a cruel dark Jedi. But this…this feels like the end of the world. How can the entire Grand Army of the Republic _ever_ come back from this?

That dark train of thought is doing Rex’s dazed brain no favors, and he takes a second to crouch behind some cover. His vision is going in and out and his hands are shaking, palms sweaty in his black gloves. He doesn’t know if they will ever stop shaking after all this. His throat feels tight, thick with anger and he resists the urge to vomit, the memory of a cold voice in his head repeating, _kill the Jedi good soldiers follow orders kill the Jedi good soldiers follow orders_. He feels helpless, and he _hates_ feeling helpless. He swore to himself he would never feel helpless again, not after Kadavo. Not after he was almost broken, forced to work as a slave alongside General Kenobi. Rex wants to break down, wants to give up and stop fighting, but he knows he can’t. His lungs expand as he forces himself to take some deep breaths, tries to fend off the panic attack he can feel incoming. His heart is pounding, and his legs feel wobbly, but he straightens, knows he has to protect Ahsoka. This could be his last mission, and he couldn’t think of one more important than this.

He braces and holds his blasters up, ready position, and peeks out around the durasteel cover to look down the long hallway. Unable to help himself, his golden eyes wander over to the pile of his dead men towards the end of the hallway. A little part of him wants to break, all of their helmets a burnt orange in honor of the Jedi they died trying to kill. His shoulders are tense, and under his helmet, his eyes are frantic, constantly bouncing around looking for more incoming troops. Sure enough, he hears one pair of footsteps coming around the corner, and with a glance at the familiar ARC-trooper helmet with the Galactic Republic symbol painted front and center, his heart stops. It’s Jesse.

For a split second all Rex feels is relief, thank _gods_ he is okay, and then Jesse runs towards him firing his blaster and he remembers. His stomach drops, mind racing, and _oh gods_ he is going to have to kill Jesse. Rex freezes, ducks behind cover again, and his thoughts bounce around his brain. He is distracted, can’t stay focused. The symbol of the Galactic Republic is something he subconsciously began to associate with Jesse, but now it just feels wrong, it feels _dirty_. The Republic failed them, failed all of his brothers. He always knew they were not free, just soldiers, slaves, owned by the Republic, but at least they were _men_. Now, not even that is true, not when they have karking chips in their brains that turn them into droids. He doesn’t even know if the Republic exists anymore, he just knows that the mysterious Lord Sidious said the Jedi were all traitors to it.

He is quickly pulled from his thoughts as he hears Jesse still approaching, no longer firing as he has no angle to shoot at him. Rex leans and glances out once more and sees Jesse take cover against a durasteel wall brace. Jesse peeks out, brazen, stone-cold, _droid-like_ , and begins to approach again. Jesse yells, anger in his voice.

“ _Aruetii!_ ”

Rex flinches, heart stopping in his chest. _Traitor_. Loyalty means everything to the clones, so they don’t say that word haphazardly, and he feels shame start to seep into his mind. Jesse is right, he is a traitor, knows he has killed his men and turned his back on them. He feels his eyes start to water again, easily provoked to tears for what feels like the hundredth time today. He desperately needs to get Ahsoka and himself off this ship or they are going to die, his men aren’t even going to think twice about it, knows they are _literally_ programmed to kill them, the aruetiise, the _traitors_.

Jesse is not far now, can hear his footsteps approaching. “Jesse! Stand down, soldier!” Rex yells, voice thick with desperation. The ARC-trooper does not honor him with a reply, and he wonders if he even heard him. Does he even reply to Jesse anymore or has he reverted to CT-5597?

Rex’s throat tightens, and he swallows down the grief he feels. He doesn’t want to kill him, one of his oldest friends, his _vod’ika_. He feels like he doesn’t even have a choice, like he still has that karking chip in his head. For a brief moment, he wonders about his other brothers, his fellow commanders: Cody, Wolffe, and Bly. Are they still alive? Are their _Jedi_ still alive? He yells at Jesse again, and he feels the tears on his cheeks, the snot he can’t wipe away because of his helmet. “Jesse, _vod_ , stand down! _Gedet'ye!_ ” His voice is firm, commanding, but gruff.

He needs to stop hesitating. Jesse is one of his best men, his best ARC-trooper, and he knows he cannot underestimate him. Jesse _will_ kill him if he gets the shot. Rex reassesses the situation, knows his target is less than ten paces away, stood behind another wall brace, helmet out of sight. He takes the chance and shoots the control panel of the blast door Jesse came through at the end of the hall, cutting off the path for reinforcements. Rex steps out from behind the durasteel cover and sprints towards Jesse, aiming to get to the wall brace a few feet away from his location, but Jesse has the same idea and bolts out, a white and blue blur of amour as he suddenly he does a slide tackle and trips Rex’s legs right out from under him.

Rex falls on top of Jesse, DC-17 blasters still in each hand and he straddles Jesse by the hips, trying to disarm him of his weapon. “Stop! Please, Jesse, I don’t want to hurt you!” Rex’s pleas land on deaf ears, and deep down he knows Jesse will never listen to his cries because he knows the cold, determined fury pumping through his vod’ika’s veins, he has felt it himself. His brother is growling and trying to get out from under his sturdy grasp, but Jesse is filled with cold, determined fury and headbutts him with all the force a genetically manipulated super soldier can. Rex’s grip falters and his vision whites out, so he just reacts, pure instinct, and punches his brother under his chin with all the force he can muster. Jesse’s helmet is knocked off and rolls to the ground beside his head.

He can finally see his face, but now he almost wishes Jesse’s helmet was still on. The man in front of him looks like one of his closest friends, but his eyes are flat and empty. His irises are the familiar golden color he knows, but his pupils are tiny, shaking and vibrating side to side uncontrollably. Jesse is seeing, but not _seeing_. It is like he is looking right through Rex, and another piece of his heart shatters. He is chanting, over and over, “ _good soldiers follow orders good soldiers follow orders good soldiers follow orders_ ,” bucking and straining against Rex’s firm grasp. “Jesse, it’s Rex, let me help you, it’s not you, it’s the chip, please, vod.” At this point, Rex is repeating a chant of his own.

Rex’s cheeks are soaked with tears, vision clouded and blurry, and he knows what he has to do. The small, tactical part of his brain knows he should kill him quickly and efficiently, one shot right through the head, but he can’t, he can’t do it, can’t look, so Rex just closes his eyes and pulls the triggers, once, twice. The loud sounds of shots echo loudly in his ears, and his hands are shaking, his whole body is shaking. Jesse gasps in pain and stills, shoulders relaxing into the floor. When Rex finally opens his eyes, he sees the first shot hit him the ribs, right at the weakest part of the clone armor, surely a fatal shot. He raises his head up at his brother one last time, and sees the second shot hit the side of his head, grazing the right side of his skull, the tattooed side on the left unmarred, and _oh little gods_ he missed the shot and his throat is starting to close up, he can’t do this, how can he continue when he has killed so many of his broth-

“C-Captain?” Jesse’s weak voice snaps Rex out of his trace, and he can see his unseeing eyes begin to focus, the fog lifting, as he looks at his commander on top of him. “Jesse? Jesse! _Ni ceta_ , vod, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to,” and he can’t stop rambling, desperate to get his friend to understand. “Captain.” The older clone ceases his desperate mumbling and places his blasters on the floor beside Jesse’s helmet, and takes off his own with shaking hands, blue jaig eyes seeming to mock him. Jesse weakly lifts his hand onto his chest to grab his brother’s hand. He is dying, lungs failing, his head on fire from the blaster bolt graze. Jesse wheezes and Rex realizes he is still straddling him, pinning him down, so he gently lifts himself off of his dying vod’ika, hands still connected.

“I’m here, Jesse, I’m here.” He squeezes the ARC-troopers gloved hand with his own, trying to keep his eyes locked with his friend’s so he doesn’t have to watch his shoulders convulse and shake with pain as he dies. Jesse’s golden eyes are glossy, the pain and confusion visible, tears running down the sides of his cheeks towards his ears. “Th-Thank you, Rex.” He coughs, hard, splattering Rex’s face with a spray of blood. Rex is shocked and confused; why he is being thanked, he knows he is a horrible person who has done terrible things and he does not deserve thanks for any reason but then Jesse continues, voice gruff with blood. “Thank you. I-I’m free now. I’m free.” His eyes flutter and Rex sees the moment he is gone, the spark leaving from his eyes. His hand relaxes, dropping Rex’s own.

An agonized sob is freed from Rex’s throat, his nose and eyes are sopping wet, and he can’t see, can’t breathe, ears ringing. He knows there will be no reply, but he can’t help but ask, “Jesse?” He wants nothing more than to lean over Jesse’s body and sob, cry for him, cry for all the brothers he has loved and lost, but he knows there is no time, so he stands, knees wobbly. Quickly, he places his helmet back on and holsters his blasters, and gently moves his fallen brother’s dead body against the wall, helmet resting on his lap. “ _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ ,” Rex whispers, then he turns and runs.

As he is sprinting back towards Ahsoka’s last location, he realizes he might be the only free clone out there. Rex has millions of brothers still alive, but he has lost every single one of them. He mourns for the men who did not get to die as themselves, as their names, and instead were killed as a tool, a slave, a _weapon_.

Finally, Ahsoka comms, and she has found a less guarded path to the hanger; now they can steal a ship and leave this hell behind. Or physically, at least, because he knows that he will never, ever forgive himself for what he has done today. He tried to kill his Jedi, he slaughtered his brothers, and he killed Jesse. These memories will never leave him, they will haunt him like Umbara. He deserves it, he thinks.

Rex is reminded again about Jesse’s bold Galactic Republic tattoo and the crippling loss inside his chest turns to fury. _Kriff_ the Republic, the clones were bred, trained, and fought to protect it for their whole accelerated lives, and for what? Millions of kind, innocent men killed for the government who does not even recognize them as men, as individuals, as citizens of any system. At the end of the day, he knows his vod’e were fighting for each other, for their freedom in hopes that one day they will have the choice to live their own lives. Now they don’t even have that choice because his brothers are not his brothers anymore.

He rounds the corner and sees Ahsoka, her white facial markings pulled together in stress. Rex tries to take a few deep breaths, his lungs filling up with air as he tries to release some of his anger and grief. Ahsoka does not need to feel his intense emotions on top of her own painful feelings, but he cannot help the self-hatred that has wrapped around his throat, choking him. His thoughts spiral to places darker than the shadows of Umbara as he thinks about how he should have died years ago; he wonders that would be better than the hell he is in now. As they are running towards the hanger, he looks over at the small Togruta and he knows he cannot give up, not when she is still by his side. She is the future his brothers never got to have.

**Author's Note:**

> This story definitely reminds me of Tup's death. RIP. :(
> 
> Find me on tumblr at jaigrex.
> 
> Mando'a translations:
> 
> Vod – brother  
> Vod’e – brothers  
> Vod’ika – little brother  
> Aruetii - traitor  
> Ni ceta – I’m sorry  
> Gedet'ye - please  
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum - I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.


End file.
